


Trapped in His Mind

by ChiefDoctor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Memory Loss, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-04-11 11:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiefDoctor/pseuds/ChiefDoctor
Summary: Sherlock didn't know how to cope with the aftermath of Sherringford.  Convinced he'd be a burden to Molly; he doesn't seek her out.  That decision changes both of their lives.  But life is funny how it can bring it all back around again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So today is my birthday and I've decided to share a present with each of you instead. I found this gem out on my hard drive only half finished. Since the heavy rains of the day washed away my plans; I decided to use the time to complete this instead. It's nearly finished. Sherlock and I are wrestling with how it should end. I guess you'll have to stick around to see who wins. ;)

After Sherrinford and Musgrave Sherlock and John head back to London.  They drop off John first so he could get to Rosie.  He then instructs the driver to take him to Molly.  He needed her.  He needed her to make sense of all of this, to help _him_ make sense of all of this.

But when he got to her place he was hit with the emotions of her ‘I love you’.  How much it had cost her, hurt her to say it?  He hurt her this day, in ways he didn’t even understand.  Even though he had not wanted to; he was the instrument to cause her unspeakable pain.  How could he ask her to fix him after doing that to her?

He stood outside the car for the better part of ten minutes staring up at her windows, he knew he couldn’t do this to her as well.  He was not her responsibility and he has imposed on her life too much as it is.  So, with deep sadness he turned around and got back into the car asking the driver to take him to Baker Street.

He never saw her standing just within her windows watching him watching her wondering why he was there.

~~*****~~

Mycroft’s car left him standing in front of 221B.  Apparently, the driver had made no note of the condition of the building, despite the police tape flapping in front of Speedy’s.  “Idiot.”  He muttered as he pulled out his keys and opened the lock.

The hallway was dark, made even darker when he closed the door behind him.  He stood there adjusting to the shadowy outline of the stairs and Mrs. Hudson’s door.  She would not be greeting him tonight and although he often acted as if she was an annoyance; he missed her coddling at this moment.  He found it odd that he wanted someone to take care of him.  Typically, he would brush them aside and make anyone who tried feel small for trying.  But with the weight of his entire lifetime on his shoulders he deeply wished someone would take him into their arms and tell him it would be alright.

He was tired, bone tired.  This day had been long and it most definitely had been arduous.  With great effort, he forced himself up the seventeen stairs to his flat.  There at the doorway he stopped.  The wind blew in from the blown-out windows swirling papers and draperies.  The center of the carpet was badly burned from where the bomb had exploded, furniture was upturned, and the smell was a mixture of charred wood and water.

Mechanically he took off his coat, his scarf was nowhere he could remember, and hung it on the peg still next to the door.  Shuffling forward he skirted around the blackened rug, unsure of the structural integrity of the floor.  As he reached his chair, he bent down turning it right side up.  Without bothering to brush off the ashes from the nearby books, he plopped within it with a great sigh.

Home, he was finally home.  Now he could process this bloody awful day and then forget it ever happened.  Apparently, he was good at deleting awful events in his life, this one would definitely qualify.

~~*****~~


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting in his leather chair surrounding by the remnants of his sister’s invitation to _come out and play_ he began to review the events of the last several days.  It had begun when he got a call from John, claiming his therapist had just shot him.  Speeding there in Mrs. Hudson’s car, he hadn’t even bothered to ask this time, he was relieved to find his friend not dead.

That relief was short-lived when John began to explain that ‘his therapist’ was really the girl on the bus, and the one that Sherlock had met thinking she was Faith Smith.  But nothing could have prepared him for her true identity……that of his sister, Eurus!

He became agitated as he tried to make sense of this, even now.  At the time, he foraged through his mind palace for hours trying to find some recollection of a sister but could find none.  When he emerged without even a glimmer he was sure that John had gotten it wrong.  So, John challenged him to confront Mycroft.  Sherlock brushed that idea aside, knowing Mycroft would not reveal any secrets or worse mock him for believing an obvious con-woman.

It was John’s challenge that “Mycroft will only tell you when he is absolutely wetting himself” that got Sherlock on board.  Even if there was no sister, this could be fun.  He had not prepared himself for the true outcome, that they indeed had a sister, and more importantly, Mycroft was scared of her.  This gave him paused since he had never seen Mycroft scared of anything, except perhaps mummy.

He barely slept that night trying to remember someone he should know but didn’t.  For hours, he poured over the details of his conversation with ‘Faith Smith’ that night…..looking for clues.  He found none, other than wondering why he had tried to save her from suicide.  Was it the effect of Mary’s death still weighing down on him?  Did he finally understand the value of a life?

He couldn’t be certain but was not at his best when his brother showed up at Baker Street early the next morning.  John had stayed in his old room, in case Sherlock might need him.  Rosie was safe with Harriet who was in town for a few days.  John and Sherlock partook of the tea Mrs. Hudson had prepared for them but offered none to Mycroft.  Mycroft seemed agitated.  He showed unease at being there as if he was there against his will, but he had come on his own.  When normally Mycroft’s agitation would please Sherlock, it only made him more unsettled.

As Mycroft told of their sister, small flitterings of memories began to surface.  It was quite overwhelming to remember things about your past that were never there before.  He was nearly ready to send Mycroft away so that he could process this overwhelming cache of remembrances when they heard the window break.   

The beginning of the song made his breath hitch as the memories began to flood his brain: sitting at the kitchen table, a small girl across from him singing that exact song.  It was John’s voice asking, “What is that?” that brought him back to the present.  Looking at John, he realized that he had just gone through hell to save him, only for him to die here.  His thoughts went to Rosie.  She didn’t deserve this.

It was their common regard for Mrs. Hudson that probably saved their own lives, forcing them to come up with a plan before Baker Street was blown to bits. 

Mycroft met them about a block from the explosion hiding behind his tinted black windows with Anthea at his side.  Immediately they inquired about Mrs. Hudson.  He assured them she was safe and that when he had told her what had happened and by whom she shooed him on without her.   “You go take care of the boys.  I’ll make sure no one follows.”  Then she headed through the back door awaiting her rescue “by the hunky fireman”.

Anthea was already working on a cover story for the explosion as well as for their own disappearances.  He had to admit commandeering a boat did remind him of his pirate days with Redbeard.  He wasn’t used to all this nostalgia, but he supposed the case warranted it.  But it wasn’t a case, _it was his life._

Despite trying to push these emotions aside and focus, he couldn’t.  Emotions were all around him, happy, sad, scared, frustrated, irritated.  They were overwhelming him and all he could focus on was seeing Eurus.  He was sure that as soon as he saw her that he would understand, that the mystery would be solved.

But it wasn’t.  It was only the beginning of an emotional torture far exceeding anything he had received in a Serbian prison.  He had trained himself to withstand physical abuse.  It was rather a necessity in his line of work, but he had not prepared himself for an attack through his emotions.  Certainly, he was above silly thoughts that common humans had.  He had never taken the time to protect himself from emotional torture because he never thought he had any.

He was bombarded with it. 

The little girl so scared on a plane full of unconscious passengers, watching the anguish on John’s face as he tried to do the governor’s bidding but could not, watching in horror as the governor did it instead.  Emotions seemed to be overtaking him and yet his sister did not seem to have any regard for any of it.  She was cold, calculating, unforgiving.  ‘Was that what he seemed like to others?’  He had a flash of once saying to John, “will caring about them help me save them?”  As he picked the gun up before the governor’s blood reached it he looked into his sister’s unemotional eyes and hoped that wasn’t him.

With the deaths of three brothers weighing heavily on him, he tried to will his feet to move on to the next room.  He thought about why she chose this case.  All three siblings were suspects but only one was guilty.  Eurus chose to punish all of them the same.  Could this be what she was doing to them?  Punishing them for what she had done, and what she had to endure all these decades.

At the sight of the coffin, he took in a deep breath.  One of them was going to die here, or possibly all of them before the day was over.  But as he stepped closer, he knew it couldn’t be for any of them.  It was too small.

As he began his deductions, he knew who it had to be.  She was the only one.  Seeing the plague on the cover confirmed it.  His heart began to race because he knew, he just knew that no matter what he did here that Molly would be dead before this day was over.  So far, Eurus had not left any witnesses alive.

Still he had to try and try he did.  He could see how it was tearing her up.  Beautiful, sweet Molly who always wore her heart on her sleeve.  Of course he knew how she felt about him….well he thought he did.  It wasn’t until during those three minutes that he truly understood the depths of her emotions, and his.

It was at that point, that he broke.

He had barely been keeping it together since Mycroft revealed that he had a sister.  This burning in his chest from having to hurt Molly so ignited a rage in him that could only be quelled with destruction.  The coffin never stood a chance.

As he leaned against the wall, catching his breath, he was rather surprised Eurus hadn’t commented on what he’d done.  Surely, she should be pleased that she made him lose his cool.  But then perhaps rage is the one emotion Eurus does understand.

When Eurus told him, he would have to kill either his brother or his best friend he had had enough.  This couldn’t continue.  He was done playing her games.  It was a calculated risk, but she couldn’t play her games if her plaything was dead.  He wasn’t surprised when the tranquilizer dart hit his neck.

He was surprised to have woken up in his Belstaff lying on a table.  Realizing he was standing in front of Musgrave was like another sucker punch.  He hadn’t really thought of this place since they left.  He barely remembered living there.  But looking at it now, with it’s burned out roof, and silly gravestones; he knew that it was important.  He just couldn’t remember why.

He was so exhausted, mentally and physically when he entered the house.  Again, he had trained his body to withstand physical needs such as sleep and sustenance, but the mental depletion was beyond anything he had ever experienced.

The overwhelming inputs of the girl on the plane, John locked away somewhere, and then Eurus taunting him again wouldn’t stop.  When the final realization hit him that Redbeard was never his dog but a young boy, his best friend he had no barriers left.  Tears ran down his cheeks as he remembered that little ginger haired boy that would play pirates with him for hours on their estate.  How could he have forgotten?  Why would he remember him as a dog?  What was wrong with him?

He was ready to fall to his knees, curl in a ball, and forget the rest of the world existed but he couldn’t because people needed him.  John needed him to save him.  Eurus needed him to….something.

This was a case now.  He could put those emotions into a room in his mind palace to be examined later.  He must solve the case to save John Watson, and maybe to save his sister too.

He did.  He found his sister, got her off that metaphoric plane, and managed to save John before it was too late. 

‘But could he save himself?’  He was emotionally spent, and yet there was no respite.  Now that the past had been revealed to him he could not stop the memories, the emotions from flooding in.  They were overpowering.  He felt like he was drowning. 

He wished Molly was here.  She would be able to help, to sort all this out.  But he couldn’t ask her.  He’d already taken too much from her already.  No, he would need to do this himself but not now.  He just wanted to sleep, to rest, to not think about any of this for a while.

‘A hit is what I need’, he thought.  It could take this all away, at least for a while.  Jumping to his feet, he hurried to the kitchen cupboard.  In the far corner, was the tin of obligatory Christmas cookies that always ended up in his flat.  But inside hiding amongst the paper wrappings was a syringe with a vial.  He took it out, examined it, fondled the syringe between his fingers. 

Leaning against the counter he caught sight of the sofa that he had spent endless nights sweating out the last of the drugs he had taken to save John.  He could still feel the cool cloth on his brow and the sweet sound of her voice as she tried to comfort him through his withdrawals.  He’d promised her, swore to her that he would never make her see him like that again.  Looking down at the syringe, he let it fall from his fingers as he mechanically walked himself to his bedroom.  Without removing a thing, he crawled into bed, covering himself with his blankets hoping this all was just a nightmare.

~~*****~~


	3. Chapter 3

When the light streaked through her drapes it was an unwelcomed sight.  Growling, she turned over covering her head with the covers.  She’d barely slept last night, and she was in no hurry to get up today.  

After Sherlock’s phone call, she had sat on her kitchen floor crying for nearly an hour.  ‘Why had she let that arse get to her again?’  ‘Why had she even bothered picking up the phone?’  Rising from the floor she took in the sight of her kitchen, the prepared tea still sitting there, reminding her of what had transpired.

After going to the loo, she washed her face trying to remove the streaks of tears.  The sight in the mirror bothered her.  ‘I can’t keep living like this.  I can’t allow him to use me anymore.’  As she left the washroom, she headed for the cupboard where she keeps the wine.  Filling her glass, she takes it and the bottle into the lounge flopping onto the couch. 

She pulls up Netflix and looks for an angsty romance that she can laugh and cry along with for the night.  ‘What’s that one where she dies in the end and they don’t get to have a happily ever after?  That sounds about right.’  Finding what she needs, she drinks her wine trying to focus on the characters angst instead of her own.

At some point, she fell asleep but was awoken by the sound of a car door.  It startled her awake and she realized that she should probably head to her bed.  When she got up, she caught sight of a black sedan parked in front of her home.  Inching closer to the window, she saw him for even with only scant light she would know the outline of Sherlock Holmes from miles away.  She took in a deep breath preparing for him to knock on her door.

But he didn’t.  He just stood there.  Looking closer, he appeared to be trying to decide whether he should come in or not.  In the end, he decided not to and got back into the black car and drove away.

She couldn’t decide how that made her feel.  ‘Did he not want to disturb her since it was the middle of the night?  Well, that’s never stopped him before.  He has his own key.  He could have just waltzed right in.  Or is that she wasn’t important enough for an explanation?  Why would he think she was worth his time?’  Sure, that she had figured it out, she shuffled off to bed.  But she couldn’t really sleep.  The sight of him just standing there kept haunting her for some reason.  At one point, she reached for her mobile, but it was still on the kitchen counter where she left it.  ‘That’s probably for the best’, she concluded.

~~*****~~

Eventually she fell asleep, only to be disturbed by the sunlight much too soon.  She had nearly nodded off again when there was a pounding on her door.  Pushing herself up from the bed she listened, in case it wasn’t really her door.  The insistent pounding again gave her confirmation that it was.  Fumbling out of the covers, she gropes for her dressing gown.  “So now you decide you want to talk!” she croaks into the hallway sure she knows who is on the other side of that door.

Opening the door, she bellows, “What?” but is thrown that it is not Sherlock.  Standing at her door is Greg Lestrade, and half a dozen officers behind him, all wearing flak jackets.  Her eyes grow large as she realizes that she is in her nightie and dressing gown.

Greg speaks softly to her, “Molly, I realize that’s it’s quite early, but we need to get into your flat.”

Pulling the dressing gown closer around herself, she stares at him.  “What?  You have to what?  Why would you need to do that?”

“Molly, if you could come with me, I’ll explain.”  He had reached for her arm to escort her out.

Quickly she shoved her feet in a pair of trainers she keeps by the door before following Greg to his car.  No sooner was the doorway clear then the officers along with two dogs all entered.  He opened the passenger door for her, then went around to the driver’s side.  When she looked back at her house, an officer was closing her door and she was left to stare at it. 

Hearing his door shut, she turned towards him, “Greg, what the hell is going on?”

“Um, didn’t Sherlock tell you?”

She rubbed her face with her hands.  “Of course, this has to do with Sherlock!  Why am I not surprised?  What has he done this time?”, leaning against her hands she looks his way.

“He really didn’t tell you anything?”  He hedges.

“Greg, the last I talked to him….” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “was a very strange and upsetting phone call yesterday afternoon.  Now what the hell is going on?  Why are there police officers in my flat?”

“He said he was going to come talk to you last night.”  Greg shakes his head wishing his friend wasn’t so much of an arse.

“Well, he didn’t.  I mean he did come here but he never came in.”  Her anger starting to dissipate a bit.

“He did come?” 

“Yeah, but he just stood outside looking at my flat for a while, then got back into the black car and left.”

“Oh!”  Greg exclaimed, he nodded then looked out his window.

After several tense, silent minutes he cleared his throat.  “Ok, I’m sorry Molly.  I thought you would have at least had a heads up before we got here.  Some stuff went down with Sherlock, John, and Mycroft yesterday.  I don’t know the whole story, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

Greg told her about a secret sister, who lived in a prison on an island for decades who apparently broke out and decided to get reacquainted with the brothers Holmes.  In the course of the day she had blown up Baker Street, and killed a number of people, tried to kill John and Mycroft, and threatened to kill her as well.

“There are bombs in my flat!?!?”  She exploded.

“Now Molly, were not sure about that.  Sherlock seems to think she didn’t really, but we want to be absolutely sure.

“Holy shit!”  Tears start down her cheeks as she thought about how she could have died yesterday.

“Molly, is there someone I can call to be here with you or take you somewhere?”

She was staring at the door of her flat wondering if she would ever feel safe again.  “Um, Meena.  Yeah could you take me to Meena’s?”

“Sure.”  He started the car.

“Oh Greg, I don’t have my purse or my mobile.”  She started to open the door, but his hand stopped her.

“Tell me where they are.  I’ll have an officer bring them out for you.”

A few moments later, a young blonde officer handed her her purse and her mobile.  “They’ve been cleared, sir.”  The officer addressed Greg.

“Thank you, Biggins.”

~~*****~~


	4. Chapter 4

Greg dropped her off at Meena’s and that’s where she stayed for the next three days.  She couldn’t face going back to her flat even after Greg gave her the all clear.  He assured her there had been no explosives, but they had found cameras in every room.  That was distressing enough.  No one imagines that someone would be watching their every move.  There was also no way of knowing how long they had been there.  Her privacy could have been invaded for months; all so Sherlock’s sister could play head games with him.

Speaking of Sherlock, she hadn’t heard one word from him….not. one. word.

Imagine her surprise then when his brother showed up…..at Meena’s!  I mean the nerve of this guy.  He tried apologizing for his sister’s actions.  It was then that she found out that both he and John were also in the room during the phone call.  She really did want the ground to just open up and swallow her.  Could this get any worse?

Apparently, it could.  No one has seen or heard from Sherlock since Mycroft’s driver dropped him off at Baker Street three days ago.  Mycroft intimated that he thought Sherlock would be with her.

“Me?”  She looked at him wide-eyed.  “Why on earth would you think he would be with me?”

“Miss Hooper, after your declarations the other day; I thought that was obvious.”  Mycroft sighed as if dealing with regular humans was far too trying.

She ignored his haughtiness.  “Well he isn’t.  I haven’t spoken to him since the phone call.” 

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in curiosity.  “But I thought he had the driver take him to your flat?”

“He did show up here in the middle of the night, but he just stood outside and stared at the building.”

“I see.”  Exclaimed Mycroft.

She could see the worry on his face, that made her worry.  Mycroft wasn’t one to let any emotions show so if he was worried there was cause for alarm.  “Do you think…..do you think he’s using again?”

He took a deep sign before answering.  “It’s always a possibility.  I suppose I should send out feelers to all the doss houses in the area to see if anyone has seen him.”

“He’s not at Baker Street?”  She asked.

“Baker Street?  There’s a gaping hole in the side of the building and the place is nothing more than char and ash.”

“But it’s still standing?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s where he’ll be.”  She got up pushing into her trainers, looking for her purse and mobile.  Luckily Meena had lent her some clothes or she’d still be traipsing around in her nightie and dressing gown.

“Miss Hooper, my brother would not stay there.  It is in a shambles.”  He protests.

“Mycroft, sometimes I don’t think you know your brother at all.  Where did he have your driver take him?  Baker Street!  He didn’t have him wait to take him to John’s or a hotel.  Baker Street is where he feels most comfortable.  You said yourself, he has a lot to process.  That’s where he would want to do it.”  She heads to the door.  Looking back, she asks, “Are you coming?”

He shakes his head, releasing his thoughts.  “Of course, Miss Hooper.”

“That’s Doctor Hooper, Mycroft.  I know you know I have a medical degree as you utilize it whenever it suits you.”  She huffs.

“Of course, Doctor Hooper.  My apologies.”

“Thank you.  You could also call me Molly.  I have known you for eight years!”

A smirk graces his face as he says, “Of course, Molly.”

~~*****~~

When they pull up to 221B, she is shocked by the police tape cordoning off the area.  Her eyes take in the bricks across the pavement as they scale the building, seeing the rather large hole where the sitting area of 221B was.  “Oh my god, how did you ever survive this?”

“Sherlock and John jumped out of the windows.  Apparently, the awning over Speedy’s is sturdier than it looks.”  She nods, not taking her eyes off the building as she exits the car.

“and you?”  She asks without looking at him.

“I had to make do with the stairs, I’m afraid.”

She pulls out her keys and opens the black door in front of her.  Mycroft seems surprised that she has a key.  “Oh, don’t look too shocked Mycroft.  It was so he didn’t have to bother to answer the door when I brought him spare parts for his experiments.”

“I think perhaps you discount your importance to him, Molly”.

It seemed weird to have him call her Molly but more so when he was expounding on sentiment.  Well, expounding might be a bit much but for the man known as ‘the Iceman’ it was not.

It was dark in the hallway, as the electricity had been shut off until repairs could be made.  Seeing Ms. Hudson’s door ajar she shrieked with concern.  “Oh Mrs. Hudson, I hadn’t asked after her.  Is she alright?”

He gestured for her to go up the stairs ahead of him.  “Yes, she is quite well.  I saw to it personally that she got out safely.  She’s staying at her sisters in Cornwall until we can make the necessary repairs.”

“I’m sure, Sherlock will be very grateful to hear that.”  She continues up the stairs, despite how dark the corridor is.

“He knows.  At least, he knows she’s safe.” 

They were at the threshold of 221B.  She stopped to take it in, nearly coming to tears at the sight of it.  “Oh my god!”  She blurted as she careful step around the debris.  “Sherlock!”  she shouted hoping he’d answer.

She continued through noting that his chair had been sat in since the explosion based on the smudges of dirt, and areas of clean on it.  Moving on to the kitchen she stopped her movements.  “Mycroft!”

He came up behind her and looked down at the syringe lying on the floor.  Pushing passed her he examined the cookie tin still sitting on the counter.  “It’s still here.  He didn’t take it with him.”  He proclaimed, hoping that meant something good.

Molly knelt down and picked up the syringe, examining it, she sighed in relief.  “It hasn’t been used.”  She placed it inside the tin and looked around for any other clues.

Mycroft had already left to go down the hall checking the loo and his bedroom.  They met right outside the kitchen.  “He’s not there but it does look as if his bed has been slept in.”

“And we know he spent some time sitting in his chair, probably sorting out his mind palace.”  Molly added.

“We do?”  Mycroft looked at her in surprise.

She looked at him funny.  “Well yeah.  I mean it’s obvious that the chair has been sat in after the explosion, there are ash smudges, and a large area that is cleaner than the rest.”

Mycroft seems impressed.  “You are surprising, Doctor Hooper.”

She laughed at him.  “You can’t spend as much time around Sherlock as I have and not learn a few things.”

He nods.  “Ok, but where is he now?”

“No idea.  Isn’t it your job to keep tabs on him?  I thought you probably had him chipped ages ago.”  She giggles.

“I did try once but he caught on and had it removed.” 

She stares at him, “Seriously?”  He just rolls his eyes at her.  “And you wonder why he doesn’t trust you?”

“Trust me, Molly, that’s only one in a long list of reasons.”  He sighed while looking around for a place to sit.

“I imagine you’ve tried calling him?”

“Of course.  It just goes to voicemail.”

“Let me try.  He might answer for me.”  She pulls up his contact waiting for the call to go through.  She hears an echo of the ringer in the room.  Mycroft hears it too.  He makes his way to Sherlock’s chair where he finds it laying on the floor, the screen smashed.  He holds it up for Molly to see.  Neither know what to make of it.

~~*****~~


	5. Chapter 5

When they left Baker Street, Mycroft offered to take her back to Meena’s but she asked him to drop her at her flat instead.  “I think I’ve avoided it long enough.”

When she entered her flat, she was reminded of the shambles that was 221B.  Furniture was on its side, books were scattered on the floor, food was left out from the shelving and the refrigerator.  She almost turned around and ran back to Meena’s but she was an adult and she needed to deal with adult things. 

First things first, the decaying food left on her counter.  ‘Really was that necessary.  I mean were there explosives hiding in the hens?’  After gathering all the trash, she took it out to the bins.  She saw Mrs. Quarta from downstairs giving her the eagle-eye.  She probably wondered why a horde of police officers descended on her flat, and she was driven off in a police cruiser.  She pulled her cardigan tighter and went back into her flat.

She went straight to her bedroom and was further dismayed to see the mess they had left in there.  As she started to pick up her clothing and put it back where it belonged, she took the time to look at it.  Most of it was five years old, at least, and quite a bit had been picked up in a second-hand shop.  ‘Maybe it’s time to upgrade my wardrobe.’  With that thought in mind she went to the kitchen to get a bin liner.  When she was through nearly half of her wardrobe was empty.  It felt good, getting rid of the past, looking forward to the future.

Finally, she made her bed and crawled in.  Mike had been very understanding of the last few days, after all having your life threatened was stressful but she needed to get back to it.  Before nodding off, she sent off a text to Mike letting him know she would be in tomorrow.

She started to feel normal again getting back to the routine of performing autopsies and routine lab work.  By two she was sitting down to tackle the paperwork that had piled up in her absence.  It wasn’t until the third time that she did it that she realize that she kept looking at the lab doors, expecting him to come strutting through.  ‘I need to let him go.  He’ll never be mine.  He never was mine.  I just need to let this go.’  She admonished herself.

Sadly though, it was difficult to do when she saw reminders of him everywhere she looked:  in the lab, at the morgue, in her flat, even along the streets of London.  He seemed to be everywhere and yet, nowhere.

John had come around trying to help her understand things from Sherlock’s perspective.  She listened but she couldn’t be sure it mattered anymore.  After all the one person who she needed to hear it from was nowhere to be found.

Nobody knew where he was.  John hadn’t heard from him since he had dropped him off.  Mrs. Hudson hadn’t seen him since she had brought the boys tea before Mycroft showed up.  Even Mycroft claimed he couldn’t find him.  Of course, she wasn’t sure she quite believed him.  It seemed impossible that Mycroft couldn’t find someone.  She was certain he had him squirreled away somewhere, maybe rehab or possible a mental hospital or Sherringford itself.

‘She had to let him go.’  That was her mantra.  It wasn’t really working but she tried valiantly each day anyways.

After binning half of her wardrobe, she treated herself to a shopping spree.  She went a little more upscale than she normally would, but she decided she was worth it.  One of the doctors in pediatrics always looked put together despite working with children all day.  She’d finally got up the nerve to ask her where she shopped.  Before she knew it her and Chandra had set up a day for a shopping excursion.  Chandra was a wealth of knowledge in style, and surprisingly quite the bargain hunter as well. 

The new wardrobe gave her more confidence as she traversed the halls of Bart’s.  It wasn’t that she was attracting the attention of men, necessarily but she felt more respected as a professional.  Yes, it was about time she lost the ‘Morgue Mouse’ persona.

With Sherlock not taking up all of her free time, she got back to her research.  She had published papers in the past but not at the frequency she would like.  Now she was sending a white paper out a month.  This got noticed by the research community.

~~*****~~

About once a week Mycroft would stop into her office to see if she had heard anything from Sherlock.  She used to muse why didn’t he just call but she deduced he probably wanted to see her face to determine if she was lying.  ‘Honestly, where did he thinking she was stashing him?  Under her desk?’

It’s been nearly three months since that phone call and still no word from Sherlock.  She did worry about him, despite trying to act as if she didn’t care.  She cared.  She would always care.  But she still had to let him go and it seemed that included London as well.

There wasn’t a place in the whole city they didn’t remind her of him.  There definitely wasn’t anyplace in Bart’s that didn’t.

She’d upgraded her wardrobe, now it was time to upgrade her life.  So, when Mycroft came around for his weekly check-in, she let him know that she was leaving Bart’s and London in two weeks’ time.

“Leaving?  I thought you were happy here?”  He asked over the tea she had started providing when she realized this was going to become a regular thing.

“I am.  I was.  It’s just time, Mycroft.  It’s time for me to spread my wings and do other things.”  She sounded wistful, yet happy, content in her decision.

“Where will you go?”  He asked.

“When my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I began doing research into treatments.  I’ve had more time for research this past few months, and to get some research papers published.  A research facility in Switzerland contacted me offering to fund my research full time.  It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.”  She smiled as she sipped her tea.

“I wish you well, Doctor Hooper but I will miss our weekly tea time.”  He said graciously.

Her gaze fell to the floor as she thought of the reason for their weekly teas.  “Mycroft, do you truly not know where Sherlock is?”

He fell back against his seat looking at her.  “Molly, do you truly believe I would keep him from you?”

Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms against her chest staring back at him.  She was surprised when his eyes faltered first.  “Yes, you’re right.  It does sound like something I would do.”  He leaned forward, placing his hand on the desk.  “But I swear to you Molly, I have no idea where Sherlock has gone.  If I did, I would tell mummy so she’d quite calling me, yelling at me to find him.”

She giggled at him.  “I think I like your mum.”

“She‘s quite the admirer of you, that’s for sure.” 

“Me?  Why’s that?” She sounded surprised.

“Honestly, I don’t think she really believes Sherlock when he talks about you.  She’s certain no one could possibly have put up with him as long as you have.”

She giggled again then blanched.  “Wait, he talks about me?  To his mum?”

Mycroft smirks, “Doctor Hooper, Sherlock has been a fan of yours for some time.  It’s only been recently when he discovered how much.”

Her face turned crimson as she knew he was referring to that phone call where intimate words were exchanged for the first time in a not so intimate setting.

“I apology.  That was insensitive of me.”  He leaned forward and actually looked sincere with his regret.

“Thank you.  I-I’m still not ready to talk about it.”  She took a large gulp of her tea.

“That’s understandable and I daresay I might be the last person you would want to have that conversation with.”  With that he stands indicating that their time has ended.

Before leaving her office, he turns back towards her stating in his government voice.  “Send me all the pertinent details regarding your new position, place of employment, and where you will be residing in Switzerland.”

Her mouth gapes at him as if he has the right.

“After all Doctor Hooper, you still retain your Official Secrets clearance.  One cannot be too careful.”

She closes her mouth and nods.  I guess he does.

Actually, she had forgotten about her security clearance level as it had been acquired some time ago when she was working with Sherlock on one of his cases for Mycroft.  She supposes it isn’t such a bad thing having the British government making sure her future employment is legitimate.

~~*****~~

The time had come.  Her notice had been given at Bart’s, her landlord had been informed, the movers were coming on Friday to finish packing her items to be taken to Switzerland.  It was a new start, so she was only taking what was truly important to her.  The rest had been given away to charities.

Molly was sad to be leaving London, but it was time, way past time many would say.  Sherlock had disappeared over three months ago and if he can be believed even Mycroft didn’t know where he was.  They were all terribly worried, sure that he had used the latest nightmare as an excuse to use again.  She shook, reminding herself that this could no longer be her life.  It was not her responsibility to look after Sherlock Holmes; especially when he had no regard for her.

With her belongings packed, she would move to Switzerland where she would no longer cut up cadavers on a daily basis but spend most of her time in the lab.  This is something she had wanted to do for some time.  Not leaving the morgue had more to do with Sherlock she realized a few nights after that phone call.  Now with her feelings out in the open, she could no longer be in this place knowing he didn’t care to return them.

~~*****~~


	6. Chapter 6

She had called a taxi to take her to the airport but was shocked to find not a taxi outside her building but Mycroft standing next to his long black car.

“Doctor Hooper, I hope you don’t mind that I sent your taxi away.  I thought you might appreciate a ride to the airport.”  He smiled as he leaned on his umbrella.

She smirked at him.  The Mycroft she had gotten to know these past three months was different from who she thought he was, softer around the edges.  Somehow, she was sure that description would appall him.

The driver took her bags and put them in the boot.  “Do you have any others miss?”  He asked.  When she shook her head, he nodded, and took his seat behind the wheel.

Smiling she said as she passed him to get in the car, “Mycroft there is zero chance of rain today.  Why must you always carry a brolly?”

As he took his seat in the car, he said to her, “Oh you would be surprised Doctor Hooper how often this has come in handy.”

She laughed at him and he surprised her by smiling back at her.  “I will miss seeing you each week Molly.  It has been a bright spot in my week, but I can see that this is what you need so I wish for you the best.”

Her eyes widen at him, such a show of sentiment.  “Thank you, Mycroft, that is most appreciated.”

“I have also given your future employers a thorough vetting and they are quite credentialed I assure you.  They have an extensive reputation throughout Europe.  They will be most fortunate to have you on their staff.”

“Thank you for that as well.  It takes a load off worrying if it’s another Moriarty scam or some such bollocks.”

“I assure you it is not.”

They sit in silence as she stares out the window.  Molly is saying goodbye to London, the place she has called home for most of her adult life.  But she’s ready because to be honest it hasn’t felt much like home these past few months.  She tries hard not to think why that is.

As if he can read her thoughts (probably can – bastard), he says, “I’ll let you know if I hear from him, I promise.”

She turns to look his way, a tear edging out of the corner of her eye, “I’ll do the same.”

Before long they have arrived at Heathrow.  As the driver retrieves her bags, he pulls out tickets from his jacket pocket.  “I took the liberty of upgrading you to first class.  I hope you don’t mind.”

Her mouth hangs open, wondering why he is being so generous but chooses not to ask.  “Thank you, Mycroft.  Do take care of yourself.”  She squeezes his hand to show her regard as she thought a kiss on the cheek might cause him a coronary.  Looking around the outside terminal she takes one last breath of London before passing through the sliding doors and onto her new life.

~~*****~~

Switzerland is so beautiful with its picturesque mountains and the snow-covered valleys.  The air feels so fresh unlike the city air of London.  Life is very different here but different is what she wants right now.

The first few weeks she busies herself with settling into her new position and setting up her new flat.  Since she only brought the essentials with her, she had to find shops to get furniture and accessories for her new place.  It was fun. 

When she first moved to London, she barely made enough money to get by.  Most of her furniture had been cast offs from friends or from her family home.  That’s probably true of most right out of college but she never really upgraded.  Even when she moved to a nicer flat, she kept the same old furniture.  She told herself that it was because it had sentimental value, but the truth was she didn’t believe she deserved better, nicer.  Now she did.

Her new lab was on the third floor, with a gorgeous view of snowcapped mountains.  It was such a contrast to the years she spent in the basement at Bart’s.  When she walked through the facility, she stood up straight, looked everyone in the eye, and was eager to say a hello, knowing she would get one in return. 

Her new colleagues were very interested in her research and her findings.  They would eagerly discuss their research as well and soon they were working quite well together and making progress.

It’s not until the second week that she is invited by the other researchers to the pub for trivia and drinks.  She considers saying no but she knows this is a great way to get to know people and possibly make some friends.  At the pub, she dazzles them with her trivia knowledge and her ability to imbue lager without much affect.

Throughout the evening they keep mentioning their friend Will, who couldn’t make it tonight.  The way they describe him he sounds like he’s a lot of fun.  She can’t wait to meet him.  Two of the female researchers offer to show her around the shops on Saturday and she jumps at the chance.  She’s missed having female friends.

It’s another fortnight before the invitation for drinks and trivia is put forth.  She’s learned that this pattern seems to coincide with the bi-monthly departure of the head of the research facility.  One of the other researchers let slip that sometimes he likes to call us in on the weekends to discuss their results.  No one would want to compromise their integrity by showing up too hungover to articulate their findings.  She giggles at this admission.

Molly arrived with the early crowd, having a laugh at the week’s ‘events’.  Scientists have a strange way of looking at the world.  She announces that it is her turn to get drinks and heads off to the bar.  Behind her she hears more people being welcomed into the group.

With her hands full with pints of lager, she turns back toward her group.  Standing behind Matt with the most beautiful smile on his face is……..  “Sherlock!”  She yelps as the glass shatters around her feet.  Not even noticing the noise or the feel of wet ale on her tights she continues to stare at him.

~~*****~~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I got distracted by a Sherlolly prompt that I decided to try my hand at. I've never written to a prompt before....we'll see how that works out. But on to the next chapter of this story.

He looks a little confused, then looks around to see who she is staring at.  When he points at himself, she nods slowly.  “I’m sorry I think you have me confused with someone else.  My name is Will.”  He looks her up and down, then adds, “and you seem to have created quite the mess.”  He points to her feet.  It is then that she registers the broken glass, the wetness of lager pooled at her feet, and the stares of her new friends and colleagues.

Mortified as she registers the stares of everyone she bolts to the ladies, locking herself into a stall.  At first, she bursts into tears, then she gets angry that he did it to her again, sure that he’s under cover or putting on a persona, then she’s back to mortified when she realizes she’s been in there too long and that she’s going to need to face everyone again.

Luckily, a fellow researcher, Melissa comes in to check on her.  They’ve shared lunch a few times, but Molly wouldn’t call her a close friend, certainly no one she wants to share her intimate details about the non-relationship she shares with Sherlock Holmes.

Melissa calms her down and convinces her to rejoin the group that no one thinks ill of her.  She reluctantly agrees.  When her and Melissa come out of the ladies, she chooses a seat as far away from him as possible.  But she can’t take her eyes off of him.  He looks like Sherlock but his personality is …..well, nearly the opposite of Sherlock’s.  This man is open, engaging, and funny.  The sound of his laughter swells her heart wishing it was him.

As she sips her lager, she compares him to the Sherlock she has known for over eight years.  This man, Will, has the same gorgeous black curls that she has fantasied about forever.  His eyes sparkle from green to blue and back again but their different.  They don’t have the intensity that Sherlock’s always had.  This man’s is more playful.  Since she’s sat down, he has had a smile or been laughing the entire time.  Seeing either of those on Sherlock was a rarity.

She’s so confused.  This man looks so much like Sherlock, he could be his twin, but he acts nothing like him.  Twins?  Could there be another Holmes sibling?  She might need to contact Mycroft.  But maybe this is Sherlock just really deep undercover.  He’s done it before.

When he excuses himself to the loo, she makes a plan.  She gives him about three minutes before she too heads back to the loo.  She waits for him when he comes out.  When he sees her standing there, he stumbles.  She looks at him intently, but he just looks really confused.  “I know you think you know me, but I don’t know you.  I’m sorry.”  He says then walks off.

She shivers feeling like she’s lost him all over again, which is really stupid since she never had him in the first place.  When she goes back to the table, she excuses herself and makes it a short evening.  Walking back to her flat she contemplates how this is the first time she’s been sad since she arrived in Switzerland, and of course it was Sherlock’s fault.

~~*****~~

Over the next several weeks, she sees Will in the halls or across the lab.  He usually says ‘hi’ but she only responds with a short nod.  The fact that he says ‘hi’ has convinced her this cannot be Sherlock but then…..

He’ll do something brilliant that has everyone buzzing or pull some archaic piece of wisdom out of his arse to win a trivia round.  Him playing trivia!  Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t have been caught dead in a building that played trivia, let alone be a participant. 

It’s driving her crazy wondering is he or isn’t he? 

Gathering her courage, she goes up to him in the lab.  With her lab samples in her hands she asks, “Um Will, would you mind looking over my samples for me.  I’d like a second opinion.”

“Doctor Hooper, while I appreciate the opportunity to contribute to your research, pancreatic cancer is not my area of expertise.”

Swallowing hard because god his voice sounds just like Sherlock.  She continues, “That’s actually why I asked you.  I want a fresh perspective.  After a while you can’t see the forest for the trees, you know.”

He laughed.  “Yes, I can understand that.  In that case I would be honored to look them over.  Would you like to stay, or would you prefer that I write up my findings?”

“I’ll stay if you don’t mind.”  She bit into her bottom lip trying hard not to smile at him,

“Certainly, pull up a stool.  We can go over these together.”  It felt so much like when they were back in the lab and she would help him with _his_ samples. After he views each slide, he gives her a succinct but accurate account of his interpretations of the pancreas samplings.  When they are finished, she mumbles a thank you before rushing off.

As she walks away, she is even more convinced that he is Sherlock, but he gives no indication that he knows her.  It’s time to phone Mycroft.

~~*****~~

It’s been five weeks since she first arrived at the research facility in Switzerland.  In that time, she’s only exchanged a couple of texts with Mycroft, mostly just letting him know she arrived safely and things were going fine.

So, when she called, he was immediately concerned.  “Molly is everything alright?”  He answered his phone.

She giggled.  “Do you always answer your phone expecting imminent danger?”

“You would be surprised how many times it is accurate.”  He tensed again.  “Are you alright?”

“I think so.  Mycroft, have you found Sherlock yet?”

He sighed, resting his head in his hand.  “No, we’ve had no sign of him.  I told you I’d let you know if I learned anything.”

“I know.  I just needed to ask.  I have a silly question for you.  Are there any other secret siblings in the Holmes family?”

“What?  What are you talking about?”

“Sherlock doesn’t have a twin, does he?”

“A twin!  God, help us.  One of him was enough.”  She laughs.  “What is going on Molly?  Why are you asking these questions?”

 “Mycroft, I found someone.  They look like Sherlock, but they don’t act anything like him.  He doesn’t seem to have any idea who I am either.  So, I’m a bit confused.”

“But you think it could be Sherlock?”  He presses.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but my gut is telling me this is Sherlock.  I don’t know maybe I just miss him so much that I think I’m seeing him.  I think that’s how I ended up with Tom.  He looked so much like Sherlock that at first, I thought it was him, then I took him on because he was as close as I was going to get.  Sorry, sorry the last thing you want to hear is about my pathetic love life.”

“Molly, I understand missing him.  As exasperated as my little brother could make me, I wish he’d come home.  Life’s not the same without him.”

“Look, I’ve already tried confronting him about being Sherlock and he didn’t back down.  He kept saying, my name is Will.”

“Did you say Will?”

“Yeah, why?  Is that important?”

“Well, it’s his first name, William actually.  He always hated it.  He started using Sherlock when he went off to uni.”

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten that.”  She remembers filling out his death certificate with his full name _William Sherlock Scott Holmes._

“The thing is Mycroft, I think before we push this any further I need to find out if I’m right or just losing my mind.  Can you send me a copy of Sherlock’s DNA so I can conduct a test?  We need to know for sure.”

“Of course.  I will have it in your inbox within the hour.  Molly, you will let me know the results, won’t you?”  It broke her heart how much emotion she heard in his voice.

“Of course.”  She closed her eyes not sure which result she truly wanted but for Mycroft’s sake she hoped he was who she thought he was.  “Goodbye, Mycroft.”

“Goodbye, Molly.”

~~*****~~


	8. Chapter 8

Dropping the syringe to the floor he knew he couldn’t go back, go back to obliterating his life with narcotics.  His last bout with them had taught him that.  Because Molly was right, he nearly killed himself.  He’s so very tired.  He drags himself back to his bedroom falling into it without bothering to even remove his jacket.  He needs sleep.  He wants sleep.  But it does not come easily.

He’s haunted by a lifetime of memories that he had blocked out and some he hadn’t.  He’s weary.  He’s scared.  He doesn’t want to face any of it.  So, he traipses through his mind palace, going farther and farther up the stairs until he is at the very top.  He opens the door to the attic, there he unloads all of his burdens about Eurus, and Victor, and Mycroft, and John, and Molly, and all of it.  Quickly he slams the door shut and locks it tight.

He feels relaxed, calm, finally he can sleep.

When he wakes the next day, it is near mid-day.  He can tell by the position of the sun while he lies in bed contemplating where he is.  He looks around the room.  Its impressive, certainly a style he would like but not his.  He’s alone in the room and more surprisingly fully dressed….in a suit.  Where did he get the suit?

He wonders if he had been using last night but when he feels through the coat to the inside of his arm it doesn’t feel tender.  Looking around the room he can’t find any personal items to give him an idea of whose room this was.  There were no pictures, no trinkets….what a boring bloke, he thought.  Because it was obvious this was a bedroom for a man.

Stepping closer to the wardrobe, he saw there were many more suits like the one he was wearing.  Curious?  Slowly he made his way down the hallway but was stopped by the sight of the large whole in the sitting room.  He looked around but didn’t recognize any of the items in the room.  Looking into the kitchen he saw the syringe on the floor and surmised that it must have been the drugs that kept him from remembering how he got here.

He needed to use the loo.  While washing his hands he caught sight of himself in the mirror….gawd he looked awful.  He looked like he aged a decade.  Seeing the shower behind him, he decided to get himself cleaned up.  He searched his arms for track marks but the ones he found looked old, none too recent.

When he had dried off, he looked down at the soiled, smelly clothes on the floor but walked right over them.  ‘There’s a whole wardrobe here.  Why shouldn’t I look good?’  He picked out a medium blue suit with a white shirt.  When he went to the bureau drawer looking for pants, his hand nudged at a package.  He pulled it out to examine it.  It was covered in red wrapping, carefully done with a gold ribbon.  There was a card:  “ _Dearest Sherlock Love Molly xxx_ ”.  This surprised him. “What kind of wanker gets a gift like this and doesn’t open it?  He must be an unmitigated arse.”  He slides it back between the pants and finishes dressing.

He goes back to the sitting room giving the room another look around.  He hears a crunch under his foot.  When he looks down, he sees the remnants of a mobile phone, quite an expensive one it seems.  “Oops!”  He decides he probably should get out of here before he gets blamed for any of this disaster.

On his way to the door he sees a long grey wool coat on the peg.  Without a second thought, he grabs it putting it on as he descends the stairs.

~~*****~~

When he hits the streets of London, he’s not sure what to do.  He decides its best to go back to Oxford to try to piece together what has happened from there.  He’s shocked to find out that he already graduated, in fact some 15 years prior.  He has no memories of graduating, or what he did afterwards.  ‘Man, those must have been some really good drugs.’ He thinks.

One of his professors, who always thought he had such promise besides being the arse that he was offered to set him up with an interview at a research facility in Switzerland.  With no ties to London, he remembers no one here, he jumps on the opportunity to go to Zurich.  With his degrees, and enough working knowledge of chemistry he is able to impress the doctors at the research facility.  He’s excited to start his new life as Will Scott.

He didn’t want anything to do with his old life, the family name had only been a burden to him.  He felt so much freer when he shed it.

This was how he began his new life in Zurich as a research analyst working on a cure for Alzheimer’s.  He had friends, he joked and laughed, he went to the pub, he was happy.  But when it was quiet, he would feel an ache in his chest and he never knew why.

~~*****~~


End file.
